


Craze

by Sierra_Butterfly



Category: iZombie (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 03:31:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12762225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sierra_Butterfly/pseuds/Sierra_Butterfly
Summary: In New Seattle, homicide detectives are partnered with a zombie, enabling smoother and swifter investigations in a crime-ridden society. But what happens when Clive chooses to continue working with Liv, rather than partnering with Dale?Dale gives Clive an ultimatum: Choose her or Liv.





	Craze

**Author's Note:**

> Dale is hard for me to write, especially since we really haven't seen much of her personality, aside from being a bit of a hard ass (not necessarily in a bad way). 
> 
> Anywys, thanks for reading :)

The sharp _click, click, click_ of heels on the tile floor alerted Liv to another woman’s presence in the morgue, and out of habit more than anything she shoved the Tupperware of brain back in the fridge, quickly spinning on heel to face the visitor. When she saw the familiar golden-dyed hair of Dale Bozzio, she relaxed. “Hey, Dale,” Liv greeted, returning to the task at hand.

“We need to talk,” Dale said icily. 

_Strange, but whatever._ With a small frown, Liv made a wayward gesture for Dale to go ahead while she prepared lunch. Liv really didn’t have much time before she was supposed to meet Clive and interview the grieving widow of their newest case: Ms. Clancy, and with how tense the detective had been lately, Liv had no interest in arguing punctuality now. 

After a moment of silence, Liv sighed. “What’s on your mind?” she asked as she tossed together an easy lunch of ramen instant noodles and brains. Not having the patience for chopsticks at the moment, Liv found a clean fork and sat down at the small table, waiting a little impatiently now for Dale to say something. 

_Don’t be snippety, Liv._ She knew it was unfair of her, but ever since D-Day and the establishment of New Seattle, so much had changed—her relationship with Clive one of the larger changes, at least in regards to her own life. Clive’s relationship with Dale was hardly her business, and yet Clive had made it such when he continued to call her at strange hours with another question about _‘Is this normal?’_ and _‘What the hell did I do wrong?’_

It had even started to bleed into his day-to-day life, leaving him tense and irritable on cases until Liv eventually convinced him to open up— _“I’d rather you vent to me than brood every time we get in the car.”_

Since then, Liv had given more than her fair share of relationship advice, all while quietly fuming. There was no doubt that Clive loved Dale, but it felt like undergrad all over again, and Liv was left wanting to shake Clive and remind him that he deserved better. 

Needless to say, Liv and Dale’s neutral grounds had become rather shaky in the recent weeks—but this was the first time Dale had been openly hostile.  
Or that Dale had actively sought her out. 

The other woman pulled out the second chair and sat down slowly, though she looked even tenser, back a bit too rigid. Liv thought she saw Dale’s fingers trembled ever so slightly, and then she returned her attention to her lunch.

“Clive is mine,” Dale said finally. 

Liv choked out something resembling a laugh, only refraining from a sarcastic comment because she was still chewing her food. _This brain is going to get me in trouble_ —although _going to_ may have been inaccurate. Swallowing, Liv flicked her gaze across the morgue, confirming that they were still the only ones there, then turned her attention back to the former FBI agent. “Was that ever a question?” Liv asked, keeping her tone as measured as she could manage, despite the sudden urge to smack this brain-induced-insane woman. 

“Don’t play innocent, Olivia, I know you want him.” 

A million comments came to mind all at once, but instead Liv smirked. “Liv will do fine,” she said, leaning back in her seat. _Damn smartass brain, totally not helping here._ “And even if I did, Clive loves you—I respect that.” 

Dale pulled her lips back in a sneer, the look in her eye telling Liv that she didn’t believe her. “He’s going to choose me.” 

“Never doubted it, are we done here?” Liv asked, discarding the now empty Styrofoam cup in the garbage. “I need to meet the man in question for a case,” she added, quietly cursing herself. Great, no filter and a complete smartass. 

When Liv turned around, she found herself looking up, mere inches separating Dale and her. “I’m giving him an ultimatum; you or me. He’ll choose me.”  
“Great, in the meantime—“

“The interview was cancelled.” 

_Fat chance of that being the truth,_ Liv thought, but wearily she sagged against the counters. Fine, if this woman was going to be an insufferable pain in Liv’s ass, then she would at least attempt to make the conversation useful. “Dale, listen to me. This brain you’re on right now; that’s what’s talking. You know Clive loves you—if you had any idea of how often Clive talks about you, you’d realize how ridiculous you’re acting.” Liv chose to leave out that lately, any time Clive mentioned the other woman’s name it was with an exhausted glint in his eyes or a worried snag of his lower lip on his teeth. 

Dale hesitated, and Liv pounced. 

“Why don’t we get drinks later and we can talk then, alright? Just you and me?” And maybe Liv could straighten this woman out before she stressed out Clive any more. The man was about to snap if things didn’t reach some sort of stable ground between those two. 

When Dale said nothing, Liv walked by her, assuming her silence was a ‘yes.’ 

Unsurprisingly, when Liv went up to the interview room Ms. Clancy was already seated at the interview table, Clive pacing outside the door, eyeing the clock. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Liv said, electing not to share that the reason she was late was his girlfriend’s brain induced craze. 

Clive said nothing, offering a strained smile and nod of acknowledgement before they entered the interview room and the second half of the day started.

***

Clive sank into his desk chair, massaging his temples as he attempted to drone out his girlfriend—he was just grateful for the late hour. It meant most of the detectives had already left for home, and those that hadn’t, had grown accustomed to the muted conversations and arguments between their youngest detective and former FBI agent. Although this conversation was far from muted, and calling it a conversation was probably being far too generous.

“Clive, you have a choice to make,” Dale continued, and wearily he met her gaze, noting that her eyes were slightly red-rimmed while unshed tears threatened to trickle out. Anxiously, Clive rolled his lower lip between his teeth, waiting for the bomb to drop. “If you keep working with Olivia, then I’m gone. Or you can stop working with her, and we can work together, like we should.” 

And there it was; the bomb that a part of him knew had been coming for weeks—hell, maybe even months. He repressed the urge to correct her for the fifth time that evening. By now he’d accepted that Dale was calling Liv by her full name just to be frustrating—he wondered if she was just trying to rile him up to get him to make a flash decision. If she was, she was sorely mistaken on what his immediate answer would be. 

Yet he hesitated, closing his eyes and dragging a hand down his face. His cheeks were still stinging from the chill outside, and for a moment he focused on the chilliness. 

_I love her,_ which was a fact. In spite of everything that had happened the past few months, Clive had never stopped loving Dale, but for the past few weeks, Dale had continued to hurt him. Accusations and arguments had become a testament to most of their evenings, and the more he tried to justify her actions as side effects of being a zombie—of coming to terms with it—the more he found himself considering Liv.

Liv had been a zombie for far longer, but for as long as Clive had known her, she had been the same person on a core level. Sure, the superficial level had changed on the whims of whatever brain she’d eaten most recently—the brain of their most recent vic, usually—but on a foundational level, Liv was Liv. 

It was completely possible that those first five months that Liv had been a zombie, she was just as unstable as Dale was now, but more and more often now, Clive was wrestling with whether he wanted to wait another three or four months to find out if Dale acclimatized, or if this was just the new normal. 

“Well?” Dale asked, her voice like a knife cutting through any momentary calm Clive had established in his skull. 

“Dale, don’t do this,” he said finally, but when he opened his dark brown eyes to consider this strong, currently unstable woman, he knew what his decision was. “Don’t make me choose between the woman I love and a good friend.” 

“Choose,” Dale reiterated. 

Clive took a deep breath and released it slowly. It did nothing to calm him, but he forced himself to do it again before he stood, grabbing his faithful leather jacket.

***

The morgue was cold, but of course it was always cold down here. It was why he always grabbed his jacket before coming down in the winter, and why oftentimes the first thing he did when it was hot and humid outside was come down to the morgue—part of the reason at least.

Clive found Liv in Ravi’s office, sprawled out on the couch with a book in one hand and a half empty bottle of beer resting on the floor next to her. If she heard Clive walk up she made no indication of it. “Liv?” he spoke quietly in an attempt not to startle her, but nevertheless she jumped, nearly knocking over the beer in the process. 

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, sitting up and dog-earing the page she was on. When she turned to face him, Clive tensed slightly. 

It only took her a couple moments to call him out—when had this woman gotten so good at reading him?—“What’s wrong?” 

He sighed. “Got another of those?” he asked, nodding to the bottle and Liv gestured for him to help himself to the fridge. Clive took his time walking over, barely glancing over the selection of Irish lagers and pale ales before pulling out one of the green bottles. He didn’t care what it was, as long as it helped to soothe his frayed nerves. 

He popped the cap and tossed it in the trash can before returning to Ravi’s office. After several long pulls from the bottle, he sat on the couch next to Liv, noting absently the duffel bag that appeared to be full of clothes and various other belongings. 

“Long story,” Liv said softly, curling her legs beneath her. 

Clive opened his mouth to ask something, then shook his head. If she didn’t want to tell him, he wasn’t going to pry—yet. It was how they operated; neither of them felt the need to pry information from the other, because eventually one of them would just volunteer the information. _If she’s staying here though, then something must be up with Ravi and Peyton._

Ever since New Seattle was established, rent prices had gone up and several people had elected to move in with friends and family. Likewise, some of the homes on the outskirts of New Seattle were outside the boundaries of the wall, such as the case for the house Major and Ravi once shared, though Major had returned to his zombie life in the zombie capital building—aka Filmore Graves. 

“Clive,” Liv started slowly, and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. “I,” she paused, brows furrowed. He recognized that look—the look she got when she was trying to repress the personality of whatever her recent meal was. “Dale came down earlier, I’m guessing based on your expression that she gave you her ultimatum,” another pause, followed by a slight wince, as though she had a pounding headache and focusing as hard as she was made it worse. Finally, she sagged against the couch, looking away. “Look, I won’t have any hard feelings if you choose to work with Dale instead.” 

His chest constricted. The idea that Liv wouldn’t fight him—hell, the thought that Liv would even question what his choice was—left a pang of guilt clawing at his chest. “There was never a choice, Liv,” he said before he could question what he was saying. “You’ve been my partner since the beginning, I’m not giving that up so easily.” 

Clive saw the flicker of relief in the peripheral of her face and smiled to himself. “You should know something before settling on that decision,” Liv said quietly, and with a scowl, Clive watched the platinum blonde haired woman unfold herself from the couch and wander to Ravi’s desk. She dug around in one of the drawers for a moment, cheek drawn inward as she chewed on it nervously. 

After a few moments of searching, the furrow between her brows relaxed and she pulled out a small, three inch by two inch baggie containing two yellow cubes. “This is a vaccine against the transmission of zombie-ism,” Liv said, rejoining him on the couch and handing it to him. “If you eat one of them, then you’ll be immune to the virus being transmitted by scratches, bites, or intimacy.” 

Clive studied the baggie quietly, listening to his partner with some distraction. He recognized the tension in her tone; the formality of her language, as though she were a GP delivering a diagnosis, rather than telling him a sugar-cube vaccine could quite possibly fix his relationship issues—or at least several of them. “How,” Clive hesitated, searching her face for some sign of what she was thinking. 

Liv forced a smile, knowing what his questions were without him vocalizing them properly. “Ravi didn’t want me to tell you until it was tested. On D-Day, he took it and asked me to scratch him. It worked.” Clive took another drink, wishing he was a lightweight when it came to alcohol. He couldn’t quite meet her eye as she went on. “Since then, Ravi’s been trying to hook up with someone to test whether it prevented transmission through intimacy as well. Three nights ago, we got drunk and I,” Liv hesitated, “I suggested that we test it. I didn’t realize he was in love with me until he said it. Since then I’ve been staying here. Ravi’s been avoiding me, but he’s sent me a daily text to let me know he’s still human.” 

“You can stay at my place,” Clive said after a moment, still not processing that there was a vaccine—a vaccine that worked—because his brain was a damned traitor. Where his first thought should have been Dale, his first thought was Liv. Where his first thought should have been how this could fix his relationship with Dale, all he could think about was how relieved he was to be free, even if he still loved her. 

Liv started to shake her head, but Clive cut her off, “Dale’s gone,” he said quietly. “She actually moved out a week ago.” 

Wide eyed, Liv considered him, sympathy shimmering in those bright blue eyes of hers. “You know you could have told me,” she said softly, fingers ghosting over his arm while she turned to face him. 

He fixed her with a knowing look. “You had your own things to deal with, Liv. Besides, I’ve spent enough of the past few weeks bitching.” 

Liv snorted. “You said it, not me,” she poked his side and Clive smirked. 

“Oh,” Clive said, pulling one of the yellow sugar cubes out of the baggie and popping it in his mouth. He cringed at the taste as the powered cube dissolved on his tongue. “And this sugar cube doesn’t change my mind. But I’ve had enough close calls.”

“Fair enough,” Liv said, a smile in her voice as they each finished their beer. He took her empty bottle and she slung the strap of her duffel bag over her shoulders, then followed him out of the morgue.


End file.
